Firsts and Lasts
by ally.enchantress
Summary: post-Fault. From 'You and this job...' to the end. "I should be home in bed, waiting for another day of anguish. But another day brings more time for you to forget, and I have to remind myself that I don't want you to forget." FAULT SPOILERS!


**After an extremely long hiatus, I have returned with another little one-shot. Just as an update in case you were curious, "Hate" has taken a leave of absence until such time as I can post without feeling like I wrote a half-assed chapter (pardon my language). I have two stories I'm working on right now, which I have not yet posted. I have discovered that posting something while still writing it makes it somewhat difficult to finish, as I have a responsibility to my readers that I have been taking lightly. So I just thought I should let everybody know that I **_**haven't**_** fallen off the face of the planet, I **_**am**_** still writing about SVU, and I **_**do**_** plan to post pretty stories when they're finished.**

**Summary: post-Fault, a phrase which hear means "right after Elliot's last line". It's a different style from what I'm used to, so I hope I get good feedback on this.**

**Spoilers: Just for Fault, I think.**

**Disclaimer: Keep them, Dick. This season shows promise.**

"You and this job are about the only things I've got anymore," he says in that deep, gravelly voice of his. "I don't want to wreck that. I couldn't take it."

And then he is gone. He just gets up and leaves, as though I am not sitting here at all, as though he'd done what he'd wanted to do, and now his work here is done. But I'm still stuck on the first part, the part where I finally realize just how angry he is with me, and the part where he truly does break my heart.

It's just so damn fitting that this happens when everything else is falling apart, too.

The shards of what was once my heart can just jump on the bandwagon.

He's told me things before, things I hate and things I want to kill him over. I've been pissed at him for so long I don't even remember how it started. He's shouted at me, and just recently he blamed me for the death of a little boy. Over anything else, that told me just how far gone we are, because I know for a fact: before this case, before poor Ryan Clifford, it wouldn't matter how angry he was with me, or how much he wanted to see how long it would take Badass Benson to break. He would never, ever blame me for the death of a victim, much less a child, because he knows what that does to me.

He did it anyway.

I guess this case is full of firsts.

It's the first time he's lied to me, too.

_You and this job are about the only things I've got anymore._

But you lied to me, Elliot. You said I'm the only thing you've got left, but that's not true. You have your family. You've always had your family. Being divorced from your wife doesn't change the fact that she still cares about you, if not in the way she used to. She hasn't taken your kids to some deserted island where you'll never hear from them again. You have your kids, and you have your wife, and you have all the familial support that I never had.

See, if I said what you did, maybe it'd be true. I don't complain. After all, if nothing's all I've ever known, then how can I miss having something, if I've never had it? I don't wish for a better home or job or mother, not anymore at least. I used to pray when I was little, and I'd ask God for a mother who would kiss me goodnight every time I went to sleep.

There was a girl I grew up with. Her name was Melanie. In school, she'd tell me about God and the Bible, and I liked the idea because it seemed like everything I could ever ask for. Unconditional love and acceptance, when all I had to do was believe it existed. She gave me a Bible when I was in eighth grade, and I wanted to read the whole thing in one night. I stayed up until three in the morning, just reading it, writing down verses I liked. I was going to paste them all over my wall until my bedroom was a sanctuary, a perpetually happy place where my mother's pain couldn't touch me.

Mom came in to tell me to go to sleep, and she took the Bible from me. She tore up the verses and said God was a cruel bastard because He didn't care enough to keep her from being raped. I told her that if he hadn't raped her, I never would have existed.

She said it would have been worth it.

Of course, I can't blame her too much. I could smell the alcohol on her breath.

But anyway, that's beside the point. The point is that you have so much, Elliot. Everything. You have everything I dreamed about as a kid. I wanted to be a cop, and I wanted to be a mother, and I wanted to be part of a family. I guess one out of three isn't bad, but you have it all. Check, check, check. One hundred percent, Elliot. Congratulations.

And the thing is, you can't see it. Maybe it's because you take it for granted, but that begs the question: why don't you take me for granted? Or this job? Why are we so important to you that you'd remember us in the midst of everything else you have.

That's what I was fishing for, you know, when I asked you, _"What about me?"_ There had to be some reason you ran to me instead of Ryan, Elliot, and damn it, I still want to know!

You didn't really answer me, but I think I figured it out without your help.

You ran to me because, when I was hurt, you forgot all about that little boy. You forgot about Ryan because you were worried about me.

This is a problem, Elliot.

I make you forget things. Things that are important to you. Things that you love. Forgetting about your kids, and your wife, Elliot… That's not good. That's not going to make you happy, and even if I've given up on myself, I want you to be happy. I want you to have everything I never had, don't have, and never will have. I don't want you to miss anything.

So I have a plan. You're not going to like it immediately, but I think you'll eventually see just how wise of me it truly was, and you'll forgive me for Ryan in light of what I'm giving you as an apology. And you know I'm no good with those.

If I make you forget things, then it would stand to reason that if I take myself out of the equation altogether, you'll remember things again.

One foot in front of the other. I'm on my way to Cragen's office. I have to do this now, while it's still fresh and raw, or I'm going to give in to what I want. What I want is to stay here. My most selfish desire is to keep making you forget, so that maybe, maybe you'll look to me for everything you think you don't have. And maybe, just maybe, I can taste happiness for the first time in my life.

But on my priorities list, the one I know you'd be angry about because you're always going on about what a good person I am, you're at the top of the list. You're right next to the victims, El. Where am I? Somewhere closer to the bottom, probably a few slots above remembering to pay the electric bill on time. No, I don't pay much attention to myself. At least I admit it, unlike you.

Which, of course, means that I have to be the one to make sure you're happy, El. If I go away, maybe you'll get everything you wanted. Maybe that toy train set can still make it under the tree for Christmas. Maybe wishes you breathe to a star will come true.

I want to stay, Elliot. I want to stay with you. But I remember the last time you looked at me, outside Rebecca's hospital room, remember? It was just a glance, like you didn't dare look at me while you broke my heart, but it was long enough. I watched the light in your eyes. I watched it set like the sun in your beautiful eyes, Elliot, and I remember thinking it was the first time that seeing the light of my world disappear into the darkness made me want to cry. Perhaps that's because, this time, the night is perpetual, and there will be no dawn.

Captain is still in his office. He sleeps here, you know. More than I do, if you'd believe it. That's what the bed in the corner is for. I wonder if it's because he can't muster the energy to go home, or because it's easier to cope with the darkness if you don't know what it's like to live in the light.

That's another thing I love about you, El. Somehow, you found a bridge between the light and dark, and you cross it every night when you go home. I've tried to follow you a few times. Believe me. But it's never worked, which furthers my belief that you are worthy of every happiness life can offer.

That's what I want for you.

Hopefully, that's what I'm giving you.

Cragen looks at me, and I can tell he knows it's not good. I should be home in bed, waiting for another day of anguish. But another day brings more time for you to forget, and I have to remind myself that I don't want you to forget. I don't think I can make you happy, El, even if you could bring me more of it than I would know what to do with. I hope that, by leaving, I do my part to bring you happiness.

"Olivia, what's up?"

He's nervous. I can tell by his voice. The way he looks at me, eyes flickering like a candle flame that persists in the hope that it's only imagining the snuffer.

"I want a new partner," I say, and the snuffer triumphs.

Maybe that's all I really do.

Maybe I've become so entrenched in this darkness that it snuffs out everyone else's light. I can only hope I haven't yet extinguished yours.

I'll never get to tell you this in person, El, and I'd never want to, but…

After that sniper killed Gitano, I wish I'd run to you.

I wish I'd thrown my arms around you and hugged you, and by doing so, I wish I could have shown you just how much you mean to me.

**Finis**

**Any comments? I strive to improve with every piece I compose, and your feedback is the only way I can do this. "Long and multi-layered analytical words of dissection" is what I remember calling reviews at one point. Constructive criticism works as well.**

**Love,**

**~ally**


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